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Guys that beat the Hell out of skin covered tubes, have a certain Camaraderie. The Brotherhood of The Skin-Covered Tubes. Wait a minute…

Guitar players, on the other hand are dead-locked into an endless, pointless, pissing contest. Hah-HAH! My Axe wheedled two milimeters farther than your puny, stringed, quasi-penis. I wave my Gibson and it’s private parts in the general direction of your Aunties. En Garde!